


In 9.41 Dragon

by Anuket



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Light-Hearted, Mild Sexual Content, Prompt Fic, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6315136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuket/pseuds/Anuket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt fic, with (holy crap) an actual deadline, to fill the following: </p><p>"The Inquisitor convinces Cullen to get a tattoo."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I knew it was just a really big hat!”

“Be still my heart. I didn’t expect the glorious chest hair to greet me personally. Ah, and there seems to be a dwarf attached. Must be my lucky day.”

“Come here, Rivaini,” Varric said, laughing and holding out his arms.

The docks of Val Royeaux were always crowded, but there was a nice, clear space around the docked pirate ship. As though pirate-ism were a disease one could catch just by breathing the same air. The subtle snub didn’t seem to bother the woman currently strutting down the gangplank. She moved as if she owned the whole damned city.

From a discreet distance away, Ashelaenia (or, “Please, by Andraste’s dimpled white ass, _please_ just call me Ashe”) Trevelyan watched the reunion with her entourage. Naturally, now that she was Inquisitor, she was required to maintain an entourage at all times. Josephine’s orders. And Ashe wasn’t about to argue with Josie on anything even remotely related to protocol. At least she was allowed to pick who followed along in her wake like particularly well-armed ducklings. That was one area in which she’d put her foot down. If she must be cursed with an entourage at all times then, by the Maker, at least they would be entertaining.

“She isn’t wearing any pants,” Dorian murmured to nobody in particular.

His nostrils flared slightly as he surveyed the woman’s outfit with a critical gaze. Or, what there was of the woman’s outfit, since it consisted entirely of a corseted white tunic slit up to the hips and unlaced down to the navel. She’d paired it with soft leather boots that rose to mid-thigh and an excess of chunky gold jewelry. In Val Royeaux, where current fashion dictated yards of fabric, voluminous skirts and head-to-toe coverage in addition to the characteristic half-mask, the tunic-dress blew right past ‘indiscreet’ and well into ‘indecent’ territory. Her hat _was_ admirably large, however, riding atop her black curls like an enormous bird which had found roost for the winter. The Orlesians would likely approve of the hat.

“Dorian, be nice,” Josephine muttered, elbowing the mage discreetly.

“How was that not nice? I’m always nice.”

“She never wore pants in Kirkwall either, as I recall,” Cullen replied. Ashe cast him a sharp glance.

“Why ever not? Did she _lose_ her pants? Out of curiosity, how exactly does one misplace pants in the first place?” Distracted, Dorian cocked an eyebrow at Cullen.

“I could tell you some stories,” Iron Bull offered from his spot in the back of the group, but Dorian waved him down again.

“So you’ve met her before, then?” Ashe raised an eyebrow at her Commander.

“I’ve … met her once or twice, yes. In Kirkwall.”

“So you mentioned. And you noticed the lack of bottoms then, did you?”

“Bit difficult not to, isn’t it?”

“Well, I approve,” Iron Bull said with an appreciative smile.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“I’ve always been a proponent of No-Pants Fridays, as you might recall.”

Ashe ignored the two men, fixing Cullen with a hard look. “Tell me, how long did you spend noticing, exactly? Hours? Days?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, Kirkwall is a coastal city. It … gets a bit windy near the docks.”

“Oh?” Ashe tilted her head, eyes narrowing further.

“Oh?” Bull echoed, smile growing positively feral.

“And you’ll notice that her tunic … dress … thing is really rather short.”

“I noticed,” Ashe and Bull chorused.

Dorian snorted. Cullen blushed. Bull just grinned unhelpfully. They stood in awkward silence for a moment before it became clear that Cullen would not be digging himself a deeper hole just then. Bull let out a gusty, disappointed sigh.

“Did she just run her fingers through his chest hair?” Dorian said suddenly, eyes back on the pair standing near the ship.

“She’ll do that,” Cullen replied.

“Cullen!” Ashe said, whacking him on the arm.

“Qunari don’t generally grow chest hair,” Bull offered, apropos of nothing.

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ,” Dorian muttered, grabbing the Qunari by one muscled arm and dragging him away from the group. “We’re going to go and be introduced now. You’ll join us when you’re able, won’t you, Inquisitor? Are you coming, Ambassador?”

“Oh … yes, of course.” Josephine followed the two men, casting a glance over her shoulder at the pair they were leaving behind.

They could hear Dorian lecturing Bull almost the entire way, though the Qunari seemed largely unconcerned and, indeed, mostly amused at the tirade. “Yes, but sometimes you have to poke them a bit,” they heard him say as the small group moved out of hearing range.

Once they were relatively alone, Ashe turned to Cullen with her arms crossed. “Just how well did you know Varric’s pirate friend?”

“Not at all well, I assure you. Certainly not in the way you seem to be thinking.” Cullen stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I knew _of_ her, knew she kept company with the Champion.”

“You knew _of_ her,” Ashe repeated, hating the sour note that crept into her voice.

“She’s the so-called Queen of the Eastern Seas. I doubt there’s anyone in the city who doesn’t know of her. Inquis- … Ashe,” he lowered his voice, stepping closer and tightening his grip on her arm. “I once told you that I left no one behind in Kirkwall. I did not lie to you.”

Ashe sighed, jealousy slipping away in the face of his earnestness. “I know, I know. And I’m sorry, Cullen. I don’t know where that came from. She’s awfully lovely though, isn’t she? Quite … buxom.”

“To me, you’re far lovelier.”

“Ah. That’s a good answer,” she grinned, touching his chest lightly.

“It seems I have my moments.” He pinned her hand in place with his own.

“You absolutely do.”

“Do you think anyone would notice if I kissed you now?”

“I think everyone would notice, and it would be in all of the gossip pages by this afternoon.”

“At this point I’m not entirely sure I care.”

“I know that I don’t. You’re the one who prefers to keep his private life private.”

“A decision I am currently reconsidering,” he smiled down at her, that slow wicked grin she only ever saw in private and which never failed to make her legs feel a bit shaky.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“How?”

“You know how,” she murmured, squeezing his hand and stepping away. “Find me later?”

“Count on it.”

“Then let’s go meet a pirate queen, shall we?”

“If we must.”

*****

“I considered naming this ship Vashedan Bitch, you know, after the whole Arishok fiasco,” Isabela said, swinging her legs up onto the dining table and crossing them comfortably at the ankles, narrowly missing a gleaming golden plate in the process. She waved an expansive hand at the lushly appointed captain’s cabin around them. “But he wasn’t worthy of all of this. Besides, the bastard is years dead now, so I thought it best to leave him there.”

“So it’s true. Hawke really did kill the Arishok,” Ashe said, sipping the excellent wine their hostess had provided. “In single combat.”

“Oh yes. Normally I prefer to fight my own duels, you know, but he was just swimming in testosterone at the time and determined to save me. It was all very exciting,” Isabela said. Her eyes brightened at the memory, leaving no doubt as to exactly how exciting she had found the clash.

“That’s one word for it,” Varric muttered. “I can think of others, too, like: 'foolhardy' or 'suicidal.'”

“It all worked out, didn’t it?” Bella waved a dismissive hand at Varric and returned her attention to Ashe. “You sound doubtful, Inquisitor. You have read Varric’s story, right?”

“Ashe, please. I’m up to my ass in formality already. And I have read his story. But I also know Varric well enough by now to know he’s … prone to exaggeration.”

Isabela laughed, a throaty little chuckle that made her cleavage quiver. Ashe tried to avoid staring at it directly, much as she would avoid staring directly into the sun. “In this case, he did manage to keep the exaggeration to a minimum. For once,” she added, grinning over at the dwarf.

Varric snorted, clearly unperturbed by their aspersions. “I did warn you both I was prone to extravagant lies.”

“And that’s part of why I adore you so, Varric,” Isabela purred.

“Rivaini, you flatter me. Never stop.”

“I won’t, I promise. Anyway, care to see the rest of my ship, Inquisitor? The best parts are below deck,” she smiled, as if at a private joke. “But the rest of it might be interesting, too.”

“Rivaini … “ Varric said in a warning tone.

“I’m only teasing, Varric. Don’t forget, according to your novel I’m a changed woman now. Redeemed by the magical power of,” she paused, winking at him. “… love. Hmm. I can actually say that word without choking on it, now.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well you can’t expect a complete turnaround. It’s unrealistic, and not nearly as much fun. About that tour …”

“I’d love to,” Ashe said. Her ducklings rose when she did, but she waved them down again.

“Stay, lads. Drink. I’ll take very good care of your boss. I promise,” Isabela said, adding a wicked smile that did not exactly invite assurance. Varric rolled his eyes.

“Surely someone should go with them,” Cullen said, frowning.

“She’ll be fine, Curly.” From out of nowhere Varric produced a pack of playing cards, which he proceeded to shuffle with practiced ease. “How about a hand of Wicked Grace while we wait?”

“Maker, no, I haven’t forgotten the last time.”

“Nor have I,” Dorian piped up suddenly, teeth flashing beneath his carefully tended moustache. “All the more reason to play.”

“All right, fine. But I’m not betting my clothing this time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bull stood, his horns nearly brushing the cabin’s ceiling, and then carefully resettled his bulk at the table with the others.

Isabela raised an eyebrow at Ashe as they left the cabin. “If I’d known that playing strip Wicked Grace was how you lot spent your down time, perhaps I would have answered Varric’s letter sooner.”

Ashe laughed. “It’s been an … interesting journey, so far. Playing cards is one way to blow off steam.”

“I prefer sex and drinking, myself, but cards works, too. Whatever helps ease the stress of saving the world, right? It certainly seems to have worked wonders on your templar.”

“My templar? Cullen?”

“I remember him from Kirkwall, you know. Very pretty but so uptight – I always thought it might be a downside to working for a crazy bitch like Meredith, but maybe he’s just built that way. How long have you two been sleeping together?”

Ashe tripped over nothing, turning to face Isabela’s sly grin. “H-how on earth did you know that?”

“Oh please, petal. How does everyone not know that? It’s obvious, if you know what to look for. So how is he?” Isabela linked arms with Ashe, pressing close in a not-entirely unpleasant way. She smelled of salt spray and cinnamon.

Ashe swallowed, unable to reply for a moment. “He’s … well …”

“I’ll bet he’s a very patient lover. I mean, he is a templar. Well, former templar anyway. All that discipline must be good for something, right?”

“You’ve put some thought into this.”

“Well, as I said, he is very pretty. I always have to wonder. Don’t you wonder?”

“Ah … sometimes? What does Hawke think of that curiosity? I know you two were close.”

“We still are, kitten. He and I have never believed in being tied down. Well, outside of the bedroom, anyway. The things that man can do with knots – just thinking of it makes me quiver. And he has very nimble fingers. I enjoy nimble fingers, don’t you?”

Isabela smirked at Ashe, who could only grin and nod in response. She’d never really had the opportunity to gush about her overwhelming Cullen-obsession with anyone in her inner circle. She could easily imagine the reactions, were she to try. Oh, she'd covered some of it with Dorian, but his eyes started to glaze over whenever she got too flowery. Cole and Solas were out of the question, of course, and telling Bull would only net her several off-color jokes and some pointers for next time. Varric would likely take mental notes, in order to incorporate the relationship into one of his future stories. Cassandra would pinch the bridge of her nose and make one of those disgusted noises she seemed so fond of. Josephine would only worry about the impact on the Inquisition’s standing, were the world to find out that the Inquisitor was sleeping with the Commander of her forces.

She’d mentally reviewed and discarded Leliana, Vivienne, Blackwall and Sera in equally rapid succession. For the first time since she’d been away from home, she’d found herself missing her sister. Isabella, however, even on such short acquaintance, seemed a perfect sounding board. Here was someone worldly, who wasn’t cowed by her fancy title and glowing green hand. She’d enjoy the stories for the good bits, not in spite of them.

“The first time he kissed me was on the battlements of Skyhold,” Ashe began, lowering her voice.

“What are the two of you whispering about?”

A suspicious voice made them both turn. At the sight of Cullen standing just outside the cabin door, they both started laughing. His frown deepened, eyes flicking from one face to the other.

“Maker’s breath, I don’t want to know the answer to that, do I?”

“You might,” Isabela said lightly.

“You don’t,” Ashe corrected.

“No fun, sweetness.”

“Let’s see the rest of your ship. Are you coming, Cullen?”

*****

“Do they always walk around all … half-dressed, like this?”

“Sailing is sweaty work.”

“So this display of masculinity isn’t for my benefit?”

“For your benefit?” Isabela chuckled. “Oh no, it’s entirely for my benefit. I am the captain, after all. That should come with some perks.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ashe murmured, scanning the activity below.

“Aren’t you surrounded by an army at all times? You sound as if you’ve never seen a shirtless man before. Don’t they strip at all during training?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cullen muttered.

Ashe avoided looking back at Cullen. She wasn’t an innocent, but somehow being around the pirate queen made her feel like one.

“Our commander feels, and I have to say I agree with him on this point, that half-nude sword swinging likely isn’t the safest training regimen for raw recruits,” she said carefully.

“Ah, is that what he meant?” Isabela said, smirking.

“Isn’t it distracting?” Ashe waved a hand at the array of gleaming muscles below them.

“Only in the best way,” Isabela grinned at Ashe’s fascinated expression as her eyes scanned one sailor after the other. Cullen hovered just behind them, arms folded, his frown seemingly a permanent fixture on his face.

“I see your point,” Ashe trailed off, suddenly distracted herself.

Isabela followed the Inquisitor’s gaze. “Ah, him. Lovely piece of work, isn’t it? Really accentuates his … well, everything. It’s called a tattoo, by the way. Lots of Rivaini sailors have them.”

“I know what it’s called. Ostwick isn’t completely provincial, despite what people say,” Ashe murmured, eyes still on the man standing just below them. She leaned against the railing, trying to get a better look at the swirling design that covered the greater part of his back and disappeared under the loose waistband of his pants. “It’s just that, in Ostwick, you usually only find tattoos on, well …”

“Pirates and criminals?”

“Well, yes,” Ashe said, coloring slightly. She wanted to see where the tattoo ended. It wouldn’t be odd, would it, to ask him to drop his pants so she could see the rest of it? Perhaps if, as the Inquisitor, she demanded it done? Closing a giant hole in the sky ought to be worth something. “How far down does it go?”

“Oh it goes down all the way, sweetness. In fact, I should get him to show you his piercing.”

“His … wait, what?”

“Dario! Come up here for a moment,” Isabela yelled.

“Bella, wait – that isn’t really necessary ...” She trailed off, as the pirate had simply leapt up and hoisted himself easily over the railing. “Well, that was fast.”

“Dario, meet the Inquisitor. Inquisitor, meet Dario, my first mate.”

“Pleasure,” he said. Up close he was even more impressive, tanned and fit, with an easy smile and flashing black eyes. The stark black lines of his tattoo dipped over his shoulders and skimmed along his collarbone.

“Turn around, won’t you? Inquisitor Trevelyan wants a better look at your tattoo.”

He grinned and spun, presenting his back. Despite herself, Ashe leaned closer, studying the swirling, intricate design. Her fingertips ached to trace the pattern, but she restrained herself. Instead, she glanced at Cullen out of the corner of her eye, imagining how the tattoo would look on much fairer skin.

“Want to touch it?” Isabela asked.

“No! No, that’s all right.”

“Go on. Dario doesn’t mind.”

“I’m really all right, thank you.”

“Well, if you’re certain. Dario, show her the piercing.”

He turned back around, grinning again, a bit proudly this time, and reached for the drawstring of his pants. They were down around his ankles before either Ashe or Cullen could voice a protest. Shyly, Ashe glanced down. Then her eyes bulged.

“Want to touch it?” Isabela asked with a hint of laughter in her voice.

“No!” Cullen blurted out.

Ashe crossed her arms and said nothing.

After a few more uncomfortable moments, during which Ashe received an up-close and personal lesson in Rivaini body-modification customs and Cullen’s shoulders grew positively rigid in an effort to restrain his reactions, they returned to Isabela’s cabin. Ashe collapsed in the chair next to Dorian. Ignoring Cullen’s glowering presence at her back, she downed the mage’s full glass of wine in a single swallow.

“Hmm, I appear to have missed something good,” Dorian observed with a lifted eyebrow, refilling the glass and handing it back to her.

“I’ll tell you later,” she murmured, shaking her head. Was it overly warm in the cabin? She suddenly missed the constant sea breezes.

“I’ll hold you to that. Don’t skimp on the details.”

“So,” the pirate queen said as she sat more gracefully in her own chair and crossed her legs. “Thanks to Varric, you have me here. Now how, exactly, might we be of service to the Inquisition?”

Josephine, armed as always with her ever-present list of notes, spoke up immediately. Still sipping Dorian’s wine, Ashe, her thoughts back on deck with the crew, barely paid attention to the rest of the conversation.

*****

“You didn’t actually like it, did you?” Cullen inhaled sharply as Ashe’s lips trailed a light path down his bare chest and lingered just below his belly button.

They’d finished their visit with the pirate queen with no further incidents of nudity, much to Dorian’s disappointment, and were now back at their rooms – the winter home of some comte of Josephine’s acquaintance. Cullen wasn’t sure who it was; he’d barely been paying attention and, at any rate, had little interest.

The fires were scarcely banked for the night before he slipped silently down the hallway to her room. He barely made it through the door before he found himself pinned against it, her mouth moving against his, hands busily stripping him of his shirt. When she pulled him steadily, inexorably, toward the ornate, canopied bed he followed. And when she pushed him down on the thick, plush mattress, he pulled her with him. Giggling softly, she allowed it.

“Did I like what?” Her fingers went to work, freeing him from his pants in a well-practiced maneuver. When she took him in hand, stroking, the breath left his lungs with a quick rush.

It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to think, especially when she squeezed her hand like that, but he finally managed to speak again. “That tattoo.”

“Oh,” her hand paused and she tilted her head thoughtfully. “Actually yes, I did.”

“Really?” He didn’t want her to stop and closed his hand over hers, urging it into motion again. She chuckled, obliging, and then bent her head to take him in her mouth. Back arching, hands cradling her head, he groaned.

After several long moments during which he could only moan and squirm, she relented, sliding sinuously up his body again and kissing him. “I thought it was lovely. Isabela told me that, in Rivain, tattoos are almost as popular as body piercings.”

It took him a minute to remember that they’d been having a conversation. “Pierc- oh yes, those. Was it really necessary for him to drop his pants that way? He could have just told us. Although … I’m not sure I would have believed him.”

“You hadn’t heard of it before today either? Oh thank the Maker, I felt so ignorant. I’m not used to that, you know. Especially with all that we’ve seen since the Breach.”

“To the best of my knowledge it wasn’t a common practice within the Order.”

“Well, Isabela has her nipples done.” Straddling him, she pulled her tunic over her head and tossed it aside, grinning at the look on Cullen’s face as he gazed upon her breasts. “She offered to show me those, too, but I declined. How do you think I’d look with my nipples done?”

“I think it unnecessary. You’re perfect just as you are.” He reached for her.

“You are so sweet,” she said, dark eyes sparkling.

“Sweet. That’s just lovely.”

“I happen to like sweet. Very much. Now, why are we still talking?”

Leaning forward, she cupped his face in both hands and kissed him again, lips lingering on his like a benediction. Every time with her felt like the first all over again, a near-silent clash between hard-won self-discipline and wanton spontaneity. He hoped it would always be that way between them. He didn’t mind relinquishing control when they both won in the end.

And he never slept half so well as when she was with him, despite the lingering remnants of lyrium-fueled nightmares.

Afterward they lay together, Ashe curled against his side as if she belonged there and always had. He stroked her back, reveling, as always, in the smooth, silken texture of her skin, while she played with the dusting of golden curls on his chest.

“Do you think I’d look good with a tattoo like that?”

He wasn’t sure where the question had come from. She’d made her preferences known long ago, and it should have reassured him. But something in her eyes, in the way she’d looked at that sailor, still rankled.

Ashe lifted her head, studying him closely. “What brought this on?”

“You … seemed to enjoy looking at him.” Faintly embarrassed, he avoided her gaze.

“I did. And yes, I think you’d look amazing with a tattoo. Not something that large, necessarily. Perhaps something small right … here, instead.” She traced the thin, sensitive skin just over his hipbone. “A little surprise only I will ever see.”

He hesitated, closing his eyes as her finger traced a line further down. “Do you think?”

“I would love it. But, honestly, you don’t need to change anything for me if you don’t want to, Cullen. I love you just as you are.”

Every time he heard them, those words made his heart stutter and set off a small explosion of warmth that spread out from the center of his chest. He kissed her hair, tightening his arms around her.

Whatever he had done, whatever he had been through to get to this moment, and this woman, had been worth it. He’d gladly revisit every low point of his life all over again, so long as he knew she’d be waiting for him at the end of it.

If only she knew the lengths to which he’d go to make her smile.

“I love you, too,” he murmured, mind already ticking with plans.


	2. Chapter 2

Varric was, typically, no help whatsoever.

When Cullen cornered him the next day in the tavern, he had to wait interminable moments for the dwarf to stop choking on his ale.

“Curly, I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Varric finally said once he was able to breathe again. He wiped his eyes with one hand. “The only tattoos I really know about are brands.”

“Brands,” Cullen echoed, feeling suddenly foolish. “Right, of course, the ones only worn by the casteless.”

“Or surfacers who want to trade with Orzammar, or the ones given to members of the Legion of the Dead at their ‘funeral’, which … isn’t any nicer, really. For my people, tattoos are basically a way to help distinguish the ‘lesser’ dwarves from the ‘better’ ones. Yet another reason for me to keep ignoring those letters from court.” Varric leaned forward, bracing his elbows against the table. “What’s on your mind? What put this crazy idea in your head?”

Cullen hesitated. Varric might spend most of his time making fun of everyone else, but he was never undeservedly cruel about it. So he sighed and relented. “I think it would make her happy.”

Varric nodded understandingly. “Maker knows, men have done a lot more stupid things in the name of love. I know I have.”

“So, no ideas, then, on what she might like?”

“Curly, if I knew the secret to making women happy do you think I’d just sit on it?”

“Yes,” Cullen said immediately. “At least until the price was right.”

“That’s an awfully low opinion you have of me there,” Varric sighed. “But… it’s not an entirely inaccurate one. I am a businessman, after all.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Maybe try Sparkler?”

“Ah. Well. That should be a fun conversation.”

“Do I get to be there for it?”

“Absolutely not,” Cullen said firmly, rising to his feet.

“Curly?”

Halfway to the door, Cullen turned to look back. “Yes?”

“For what it’s worth, I think you already make her happy. The two of you are good for each other.”

“Thanks, Varric,” Cullen said, oddly touched.

“Hey, she might just work an even bigger miracle than closing a giant hole in the sky. She might actually get you to loosen up a little.”

“Now you’ve ruined it.”

“Bah, we were so close to sharing a touching moment, too.”

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

*****

The silence was palpable.

Cullen shifted in his chair, glancing around the spacious room that the mage had appropriated upon arrival. He tried to avoid meeting the other man’s eyes. Dorian crossed his legs. Sipped his tea. Stroked his moustache thoughtfully. Cullen fidgeted again in his chair, wishing it had more padding.

“So let me see if I have this straight,” Dorian said finally. “She said you didn’t actually have to get this tattoo if you didn’t want to. But you’re going to do it anyway.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Do you even _want_ to do it?”

“You didn’t see the look on her face when she saw that pirate.”

“Well, I saw the pirate. He was definitely … striking. I certainly can’t fault her taste in men.” The mage winked at Cullen, who blushed slightly.

“Err … thank you?”

“You’re quite welcome.” Dorian inclined his head gracefully. “But you didn’t answer my question. Do you even _want_ to do it?”

“I want to make her happy.”

The mage waved his hand dismissively. “You do. That was never in question. You mentioned her face when she looked at that pirate? Well, you should see her face when she speaks of you.”

“But she … wait, what? When has she spoken of me to you?”

“She talks about you all the time. What did you think we were doing during all of those afternoon teas?”

“… drinking tea?”

“Well, yes, but did you think we just sat there in silence?”

“I’m not sure. Are you capable of silence?”

Dorian grinned, a flash of white teeth under the moustache, acknowledging the hit. “It would normally be rather boring, honestly, what with all of the gushing. But she does let slip the most _interesting_ details, sometimes, so I allow it.”

“Oh, sweet Maker, what details?”

Dorian shrugged lightly in a ‘that’s for me to know’ gesture. “All I’ll say is: color me impressed, Commander. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.”

“I’ll second that,” a deep voice said suddenly, from behind the curtained canopy of Dorian’s bed.

With a sinking feeling, Cullen saw a huge, horned form shift behind the filmy gauze. Iron Bull emerged from the depths of it, unfolding his enormous frame and stretching with a low rumbling groan. His fingertips were almost able to brush the ceiling. He was nude. Cullen immediately averted his gaze. Making comparisons would be inevitable, and it was just too demoralizing.

“ _Venhedis_. Put some pants on, you savage, before you blind our poor commander.”

Bull sighed, grinning over at Cullen, who was still trying valiantly not to let his gaze drop below the waist. “This is the complete opposite of what he was demanding from me last night,” he said conversationally. “He just can’t make up his mind.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize that you were … that you both were … here.”

“You had things on your mind,” Bull, now thankfully clad in a loose pair of pants, joined them near the fireplace. He glanced dubiously at the delicately carved wooden chairs and chose to sit on the floor instead. “Now, if you’d arrived an hour earlier, well, that might have been awkward.”

“Stop trying to embarrass the poor man.”

“Is that what I was trying to do?”

“It’s what you’re always trying to do.”

“If we could return to the subject at hand,” Cullen said diplomatically.

“Right. So, you want to get a tattoo. For your lady love. And you’re picking our brains to figure out what she’d like.”

“That’s the gist of it.”

Bull scratched thoughtfully at one of the scars on his forehead, just over his ruined eye. “I think you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“How do you mean?”

“Barring any magical interference, a tattoo is permanent. It sends a message. Sure, you could brand her favorite flower, or her coat of arms, across one ass cheek. That would definitely be making a statement. Might be good for a laugh or two, but I don’t think that’s the message you want to send, am I right?”

“Well, aside from the fact that I wasn’t planning on getting my ass tattooed, yes.”

The mage leaned forward slightly. “Oh? Where were you going to get it?”

“That’s not important, is it?”

“I like to know the details.”

“Now who’s trying to embarrass the man,” Bull said idly. He laid one large hand over Dorian’s knee and squeezed. Dorian leaned back again, clearly disappointed.

“You were saying, Bull?” Cullen said.

“Anyway,” the Qunari continued. “What I’m trying to say is it should be something important to you, specifically. Something that marks an occasion, brings back a good memory, pinpoints an ideal. After all, you’re the one who will wear it forever.”

Dorian snorted. “Not necessarily. There are spells.”

“He’s a templar. Well, former templar.”

“There are still spells.”

“He’s. A. Templar. A real one, not one of your neutered Tevinter types. Whether he’s with the Order or not, I’m reasonably sure he wouldn’t jump on the idea of having body-modifying spells cast on him.”

“They’re safe enough.”

“And how often have you performed these spells?”

“I know the theory, and I am, after all, an outstandingly talented mage. I’m sure I could perform one if called to do so.”

“I rest my case.”

Cullen shook his head at the exchange. Still, Bull had a point – a tattoo that meant something to him, or marked an occasion. He sat back in his wretchedly uncomfortable chair, only half-listening as they continued to bicker. An idea began to form in his mind.

“I think I know what I’m going to get. Thank you, Bull. You’ve been very helpful.”

“No need to sound so surprised, you know. After all, I was …”

“Ben Hassrath, we know. Years of training, blah blah blah,” Dorian interjected. Bull shot him a faintly offended glare. The mage grinned in response.

Cullen rose to his feet, suddenly determined to have it done.

“Hey, if you’re going now, I know a guy,” Bull said, standing again and moving to the writing desk.

“Of course you do,” Dorian murmured, sipping his tea again.

“Can we watch?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Bull scribbled down a name and a set of directions on a spare scrap of parchment and passed it to Cullen.

“Oh let the Commander have his secrets for now. Ashe will tell me about it later, I’m sure.”

“And then you’ll tell me?”

“I might. We’ll see.”

“Then I’ll just have to find a way to get it out of you.” Bull leaned over Dorian’s chair, placing a hand on each of the armrests and pinning down the other man’s hands in the process.

Dorian didn’t look at all intimidated. Instead, he stared up at the Qunari with a tiny, challenging smile curving his lips.

Cullen beat a hasty retreat, before clothes came off again.

******

The day seemed endlessly long.

Cullen spent the afternoon on his errand, while Ashe was holed up in meetings with various nobles who had leapt at the chance to be seen speaking with the Herald of Andraste. Regardless of whether or not their contribution was actually helpful to the Inquisition’s cause, the lure of having her within the city proved irresistible and the nobles accordingly flocked to her side like a pack of overly-ruffled hounds.

Afterward, Josephine had arranged an early dinner with a favored few. Cullen suffered through the flirtations and polite conversation with the rest of them. At the head of the table, Ashe looked weary. A small frown creased her brow, smoothing only whenever someone spoke to her. She drank wine as if it were water, and constantly seemed on the verge of punching someone.

He could empathize. Dealing with the nobility exhausted him, too. And, after being openly propositioned by a frilly, fluttering noble for the third time, he was more than ready for the evening to end. Instead, they all had drinks in one of the drawing rooms and made more polite conversation. Josephine, well-accustomed to dealing with the higher echelons of society, was in her element, moving smoothly in and out of groups with aplomb. Varric, discovering he had fans of his serials in Orlais, held court in the center of the room and teasingly refused to drop spoilers. The nobles gave Dorian side-eye and mostly tried to avoid him, a fact that Cullen envied and which seemed to vastly amuse the Tevinter. Bull loomed against a far wall, and the looks he received were mostly considering. Cullen was, unfortunately, privy to more than one whispered conversation speculating whether or not all of him lived up to the promise implicit in the size of his shoulders and horns.

“Do you think they would notice if we made our escape yet?” Ashe whispered, sidling up to Cullen after what felt like the longest hour in creation.

“Not only would they notice, they’d likely chase us down the hallway.”

“Why a dinner, of all things? What on earth was Josephine thinking?”

“What she’s always thinking about: solidifying alliances for the Inquisition, and forging new ones.”

“She works far too hard. She could have taken a night off for once.”

“Try suggesting that and see how far it gets you.”

“I’m surrounded by workaholics. Don’t any of you ever just take some time for yourself?”

“I’m learning to,” he glanced down at her, delighting in the secret smile that curved her lips for a fleeting moment.

“That’s good, if not exactly restful.”

“And it’s worth every moment.”

“Flatterer.”

“I have something for you. May I come to you later?”

“Always.”

“Yet another reason this evening can’t end soon enough,” he murmured, brushing her hand discreetly with one finger before allowing her to be called away to chat up yet another guest. She went reluctantly, casting a rueful glance back at him. He smiled in reply, toasting her with his wine glass.

The guests lingered until almost midnight, leaving only after Cullen pulled Josephine aside and quietly threatened to have them physically removed from the property. The ambassador regarded him out of wide eyes for several moments, then sighed and acquiesced, muttering something under her breath about him being every bit as bad as Cassandra. Untrue, he thought. Cassandra wouldn’t have even delivered a warning first.

It was at least another hour before the rest of the house settled enough for him to make the short journey down the hallway to Ashe’s room. Varric had left for the closest tavern. Bull and Dorian were holed up together in Dorian’s room, doing what he couldn’t imagine, and didn’t wish to. Josephine was, no doubt, writing another series of letters and reports for Leliana. Sometimes he wasn’t sure she slept at all.

It was with a pounding heart that he rapped softly at Ashe’s door, slipping inside when he heard her bid him entry. She sat at her dressing table, wrapped in a filmy robe of seafoam-green that did more to reveal than conceal. Through it he could see the pale flash of her hips and legs, the elegant line of her spine.

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, leaning against the door.

Casting a smile over her shoulder, she ran the brush through her long, dark hair one final time before swiveling to face him.

“I thought the evening would never end,” she said.

“I’m in full agreement.”

“I know Josephine means well but,” she shrugged. “I never really felt comfortable in social gatherings while growing up. I’m afraid that hasn’t really changed.”

“I understand.”

“It all just seems so trivial. _They_ all seem so trivial. We have larger concerns.”

He took a deep breath and then stepped forward into the pool of light cast by the flickering fire. “Well, I hope that you’ll be able to put those concerns aside for a bit longer. I have something to show you.”

When he pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it aside, and then reached for the drawstring on his pants she grinned. “Not to say you aren’t lovely, Cullen, but I have seen it all before.”

He ignored her, pushing the pants to his ankles and stepping out of them. It took her but a scant moment to notice the small difference. Eyes widening, she rose from her seat and moved to join him by the fireplace. One finger reached out to trace a delicate line over the tiny dragon coiled along his hipbone. It lay in a circle of green fire no larger than a golden sovereign. In the curl of the dragon’s tail was a date, etched in perfect, precise detail.

Her eyes flew to meet his, and he smiled down at her ruefully.

“This is a time worth remembering. In 9:41 Dragon, the sky opened up. The Conclave was destroyed, the Divine was murdered and the world seemed on the verge of destruction. And then a woman fell out of the Fade. You set us on our path. You trusted us, and you saved us all.”

“Cullen …”

“And you made me a better man in the process. One I can feel proud of, the one I always wanted to be. In spite of all of the uncertainty and fear, and whatever else may come, I want you to know that I have no regrets. You are ... you are everything to me. I love you, Ashelaenia Trevelyan.”

“Ashe,” she corrected automatically. Her eyes glistened. “Dammit, now you’ve made me cry.”

“Not quite the reaction I was going for.”

She shook her head, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. “I love you, so much.”

“That’s more like it. I don’t need the tattoo to help remind me of one of the most important years of my life, but Iron Bull suggested it be something that marked an important occasion.”

Her body vibrated with laughter against his, and she leaned back so that she could see his face. A wide, brilliant smile covered hers. “You asked The Bull for advice?”

“Technically, I asked Dorian. The Bull just happened to be there, too.”

She laughed even harder. “Oh sweet Maker, I bet that was awkward.”

“I asked Varric too,” he said with a grin.

“You have to tell me. I need details.”

Bending his head to brush her lips with his, he slid his hands inside her robe, pushing it off of her shoulders in a slow, teasing motion. “Perhaps … after?”

“Mmm,” she breathed. “Yes, that works too.”

“We are going to beat Corypheus. We are going to crush his Venatori. We will win. And after that, well, we’ll have all the time in the world for awkward stories.”

“I like the way you think, Commander.”

“Just like?”

“I love you, Cullen.”

“And I you. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the lovely ladies of my writing group for the challenge. A special thank you to [Cloak_n_Dagger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloak_n_Dagger/pseuds/Cloak_n_Dagger) and [OrlesianTruffles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OrlesianTruffles/pseuds/OrlesianTruffles) for the beta reads and the encouragement.
> 
> I never thought I'd be capable of a one-shot, because I'm just too damn long-winded for my own good. Never thought I'd actually meet a deadline (kind of) either. 
> 
> It was definitely fun revisiting this world, though. Like seeing old friends again.


End file.
